nolan_void

I'm starting to find that fantasy no longer sustains me like it once did. I can't live off of daydreams anymore, unless I can see through to the reality that is often hidden behind them. I was talking to a group of three girls the other night, two of which I have romantically pursued in the past. The more I listened to them the more I started to feel a strange conflict welling up. These were not the girls that I had fallen in love with. Their words were shallow, their outlooks immature, and their conversation devoid of inherent value. This of course, is all relative. It was devoid of inherent value for me, because I generally don't place value in gossiping maliciously about people who get drunk and make out at parties, and then continue to relate a story of how rad I am for getting drunk and making out with people at parties. I questioned whether or not they had changed so radically, or whether my way of perceiving them was responsible for the shift. I think it is both. I am now unable to put people on the same pedestals that I used to.

It's really hard to escape the idea that someone is going to come along and save you from the shittiness of life. I have been lead to believe that such a person does not exist, that she will never come, because the true problem lies in my craving, longing for something else, for things to be different from how they are instead of accepting life as already perfect. The trick though is that imperfection, paradoxically enough, is part of the perfection. I still just feel like there is something I am missing. A voice in my head tells me that there may not be anything to figure out, that acceptance is what is missing, and my desire to find some sort of remedy is just another face of craving. Before I move on to my next moments of pondering, I would like to state that there is a part of me that is ever saying "Fuck you" to every idea and belief and statement discussed above. There is a part of me that is never satisfied by the philosophical tenets which make such sense to me on a thinking level, but rarely comfort the uneasiness of my heart.

When I think back to things I have read, I realize certain things about my despair of losing my artistic talent. It is, in my belief, more or less irredeemable. I've been trying to quiet my mind enough so that the creativity will pour forth again, but the lamentation of the lost spirit which I used to possess for such activities as writing and drawing seems to be a constant impediment. Even in my prime as an artist, I realized that my role was probably the most important in the entire world, and I wonder how I ever fell from such a station. Am I losing sight of the person I am as I try so hard to grab a mirage of the person I used to be? It's all still in me, still a part of me. There were times when the conditions were sufficient enough for that talent to manifest, and now those conditions are not there. But it's all still in me. All the potential is there, not lost, never dying, ever living.

People have to be tricked a lot. They trick themselves into getting up earlier by setting their clocks fast. They trick themselves into saving money by hiding it in places, or putting it in accounts that they don't have direct access to. It's a lot harder to trick yourself into enlightenment, because the trick is that there is no trick, which for most people is still a trick in and of itself.